


Heat Treats

by ADevilsHunger (Dream_tempo)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Come Eating, Comeplay, Cooking with cum, Knotting, M/M, Mall cop Derek, Milking, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Public Sex, Self-Lubrication, Societal Issues, vlogger stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/ADevilsHunger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Alternatively titled How to Make the Most of Mall Jail) Stiles is a young abo activist and small internet sensation. Starting out with every day vlogs in college and moving into making it a career, he's all about making the world a better place for his fellow omegas. Now he's got a book published, recipes made with alpha cum to help omegas through the days leading up to, and after their heat. Only problem is, instead of being shelved with all the other cookbooks or even in the health and wellness section, it's being burrowed away in erotica. He'll just have to fix that himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat Treats

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of two asks I got on my blog: "I saw this cookbook on amazon that made me think of your stories. It's called "Natural Harvest". It's a cookbook for semen based recipes. The reviews people wrote were hilarious also! I'm sure it's a joke but it got me thinking of an idea where Stiles is an Omega celebrity chef who is famous for using Alpha semen in his foods. He has a whole group of Alphas that he milks for his ingredients and each one is on a special diet because the foods they eat effect the flavor of their cum. Headcanons?" and "OMG! There's another one called Semenology the Semen Bartebder's Handbook. You could do a story where Stiles runs an exclusive Omega bar where they serve Alpha semen cocktails and the main entertainment could be watching an Alpha get milked for a fresh round of drinks. Again I assume the Alphas would have to be on a strict diet to keep the flavor consistent. Headcanons please, please, please, please, PLEASE!!!"

(I took this slightly off-prompt, but I got an immediate plot bunny and just had to write it out!)

He’s infamous at every book store within an hour’s driving distance-- even has his picture up on a half dozen walls of shame, ensuring employees try and shoo him out as fast as possible on every attempted re-entry-- but Stiles doesn’t care because he’s doing noble work. It’s taken him years and a lot of public embarrassment to get to the point where he is, and fuck them all if he thinks he’s gonna let this slide. 

Because, see, he’s a food vlogger, a pretty avid one, and just a few weeks ago he finally moved to the big leagues when he got his own cook book published. It started out mostly as a joke, a set of skits to keep him busy in the dorms between classes, and something he could use to claim as a senior project in his pretty generic Communications degree. “Heat Treats” was originally a vine series of all his one night stands’ reactions when he asked them to come on a piece of food for him. Because humor. 

But those all too brief six seconds couldn’t possibly contain all of his babbling so he moved to YouTube. As a young, up and coming omega, of one of the first generations breaking free of their historic oppression and finding ambition for himself outside of being someone’s brood mare, he thought he had a lot to say and offer as documentation. He was going to a university with only a handful of other omegas and they met once a week in a kind of support group, he wasn’t taking suppressants and had his natural heats, and he thought slut shaming needed to be put right to bed. So he filmed a bit of a diary, talking about how he dealt with all that shit, how he found alphas he could trust to take care of him from among his peers, how he chose fun one-night-stands without getting someone that thought they could throw him around and call him a bitch, and just the every day of making sure he had his fair place among all the other boys. 

He filmed lots of Q and A’s about all the ways to cope-- about slick liners and birth control, working with professors to schedule tests around your heat, etc etc. Somehow, he’s not even sure, he got to admitting he actually did like snacks infused with alpha semen. They helped calm that buzz that got around his skin and brain sometimes, grounded him a little and made him feel sated. 

They were quick, easy, and discreet. Much more so than walking up to the nearest frat guy, pulling him into a handicapped stall, and getting a little hit straight from the source. Plus, not every guy had his papers in his back pocket so Stiles knew he was clean, and even if he did, there was no accounting for a college bro’s diet and how so many of them thought that the regular, bitter, salty, fun semen flavor was not preferable to getting a mouthful of tangy pineapple after-taste-- which was only pineapple enough to make it weird and kind of sour. He wishes people would stop perpetuating that shit because it’s awful. 

But admitting his little vice led to conversations about how hard they were to find-- only in specialty stores, mostly in sex shops right next to the edible underwear, like it’s all about kink and not about their health-- and how expensive they could be. Which, what even? They’re regular ass granola bars and salted caramels and shit with just a little special sauce mixed in. Every dude on every corner had a pretty hefty amount just hanging between their thighs, it wasn’t like it was some rare ingredient hard to find. Stiles had had his mouth knotted before and his belly legit swole from one guy. Looked like he was three months pregnant for a couple hours. Supply and demand is not an issue. 

Fed up with “the system” as it were, and how alphas and betas had to make his life a living hell at every fucking turn, he started making his own recipes and doing his own demonstrations almost as a protest art, in direct opposition to his original joking shorts. He used the dorm's community kitchen, the film school’s equipment, and his classmates’ cum to get the ball rolling. Heat Treats was reborn, and this time, it was personal. 

He found a jovial partner in an adorable alpha named Scott McCall. The kid was walking sunshine and rainbows and he and Stiles first hooked up at a local _League of Legends_ tournament on campus. Stiles’ team had been knocked out of their best of five pretty early on and he was content to spectate with the rest of the auditorium. Scott just happened to be his seat partner and bumping knees while jumping and shouting turned to commenting in each other’s ears turned to fucking out behind the building. 

From there they kept a pretty fun and casual thing going. Scott was clean and fun to be around and didn’t treat Stiles like a blow up doll when he needed the D. They could hang out and just be regular ass friends, but if Stiles needed it, he could hop on that crooked cock whenever he needed and that was a godsend. Both the freedom and Scott’s wicked right hook dick. That bend went places and did things. 

And when Stiles was filled with righteous indignation and fumed at Scott while spending a good half hour languorously worshiping his hairy hangers to make sure he got himself a decent fill this knotting, the other boy just listened and amiably laughed, and supported him. He didn’t make fun of Stiles for the idea of making food for heats on his own, even said it seemed pretty smart, like maybe he could make something of it, go on Shark Tank. Of course, he said this while they were watching Shark Tank (when you’re tied together as often as they are, you find some good trash tv that will eat up the waiting time for a knot to deflate) so Stiles doesn’t know how much thought he was actually giving it, but it was enough. 

The next morning Stiles was asking if Scott would consent to being milked and much to his adoration, the guy just shrugged and smiled and said as long as he wasn’t being sounded, but just came in a jug, orgasms were orgasms. Scott had pretty good semen, as far as Stiles’ sample size went. He ate a lot of junk food, but also drank plenty of water and worked out fairly religiously. Thick, never yellowed, very salty, and not too bitter, Stiles had plenty ideas of recipes he could infuse it in. 

They generally took quite a few tries-- the hard part not being the flavor, but figuring out how the little addition changed consistencies, chemical baking structures, cooking temperatures so as not to spoil. He actually had to invest more money than he’d thought, buying the right equipment, enough ingredients for a full test kitchen, the bandwidth to host his material. It was a little scary seeing all of his hard earned cash be spent on what was once a joke, but as he got more and more feedback-- other omegas saying they loved his work, that it made their lives so much smoother, that it was actually fun and often got them better relating to the kind alphas that would donate-- it became kind of a  _thing._

Like, he felt like he was doing something, besides just debunking a stereotype in his personal life. He told himself he went to college, he stayed off suppressants, he was loud and proud about his liners because he was trying to make things better for omegas, but he kind of just did those things to be a shit, because it was in his nature. He did that all for himself. This? This was bigger, this kind of started to feel like activism as his subscriber count sky-rocketed, as his productions got bigger and better, as he got in touch with other omega social media gurus that wanted him on their lifestyle blogs. 

His name became  _a name,_ like,  _in the biz._ He got sponsorships from kitchen brands, partnered with local bakeries, and got articles published in his school newspaper and alumni magazine. A real up and comer. A real mover and shaker. He kind of accidentally fell into making something of himself by being a shameless cumslut, and wasn’t that the coolest thing ever? 

It led to, a few months after his graduation, being approached for a book deal-- the opportunity to sell the idea of Heat Treats to the whole, wide general audience. He’d had his success so far, but everything was still pretty niche. You had to be searching for him to find him, had to already know the keywords or have him pop up in recommendations lists. But with this he would be on shelves next to Gwyneth Paltrow’s somehow even more eclectic recipes, in stores alphas and betas went to every day. 

Or at least, that was the idea. But its faulty implementation is what led him to where he is now. Which is mall jail. Jimmying his leg on a metal chair with twenty year old, tattered upholstery, drinking instant coffee, and staring at yet more polaroids of unwanted teenage hooligans, soccer moms with sticky fingers, and people who fought a little  _too_ hard for their coupons. Stiles wonders why his followers tell him he’s pretty much a celebrity. He’s pretty sure Beyonce never had to wait for the head of mall security to show up, amidst cardboard boxes filled with styrofoam cups. 

It’s not even his fault. Well, not in the grander scheme of things. Has he been caught moving around merchandise more than twice in this particular Barnes and Noble? Yes, yes he has. But that’s only because when his book finally got finished, got printed and bound, got shipped out to stores all across the country-- the vast majority of retailers took one look at the title and his proud, smiling face on the cover, with a comically large, utterly salacious and implicative milk mustache, and shoved it into the erotica and sexual health section. 

You know, the one that’s only got one shelf. The section that’s typically hidden all the way in the back and flanked by the religious ones because they’re trying to prompt you to find god. The one that has plastic covers over the top of everything so you can’t even browse without acting shady, or walk by, catch a glimpse of an interesting cover, and stop to see if it’s something you might want. He was being fucking blacklisted and that shit would just not do. 

So, Stiles decided fuck the man, and twice a week, drove to every bookstore in his area to move the entire stock of his cookbooks to the goddamn cooking section, where they belonged. Getting caught ferreting books from the sex section to others in the store was, understandably, frowned upon, but what was he supposed to do? He’d tried just asking at first, thinking it was some kind of mistake or mix up, and when it became  _very_ evident that it was on purpose-- several snooty alphas and betas telling him that his  _eccentricity_ was where it belonged, with the other  _smut_ \-- he had launched formal complaints and got straight on the phone with his editor and his publisher.

But the matter was one of distribution and they couldn’t tell the stores where to put their own merchandise and so any legal or formal venue was shut down right quick. He had to take matters into his own hands. Clearly. There was just no other way to deal with this. Aside from the pretty bitchy video he’d made about it, which his publisher told him to take down if he ever wanted to make a second book. But twenty thousand people had already seen it by then, so it had surely been ripped and would live on forever anyway. Such a bummer, that. 

He’d been mostly getting away with his petulant attitude about it all too. Aside from being ostracized by the local book buying community, his followers actually loved that he was taking a stand about it and it was selling better than he’d hoped for, about on par with the estimations his bosses had, but better than he had dared to imagine. He was living off of this, and so it felt professional enough to actually be given at least enough respect to put his book with everyone else’s. 

That was the pitch he was planning on giving the great Head of Mall Security that all of his underlings seemed to so fear. When the affable, adorable little beta Jordan Parrish, had first carted him away from the store front and back to the employee sections of the mall, Stiles had thought he was gonna get off scott free. The compact little blonde haired beauty was eating up his flirtations and eyeing his own doughier omega figure with want. He was decently sure he’d get a sample of some slightly lower grade protein than what he cooked with, but loved all the same, and then would be sent on his way. 

The swinging light bulb and tiled linoleum floors were even kinda working for him in a back alley sort of way, but then Parrish’s walkie had squawked to life and he was informed that “the hoss” is coming. With that his eyes went wide, his spine rigid, and whatever sexy juju Stiles had been working with dissipated. He told Stiles to wait right there, to not try  _anything_ when his boss came in, no seriously, don’t, and then he was out the door. 

Seemed to Stiles he was about to be confronted by some beta with a presentation complex, wishing his was as big dicked and low balled as all his aggressive alpha friends and so was over compensating. Stiles had met plenty of them before and didn’t honestly get it. He loved all dicks. They were all created equally under the eyes of a thirsty omega god. Size, shape, output capacity, it didn’t matter. He loved the bite-sized perfect mouthful of his omega brothers that barely spat out a sweet, opalescent little liquid, he loved the chubby, beer can cocks of the betas that gave him a delightful sampler of squirts, and he loved the overlong, probing alpha dick that tried to flood his womb with every ounce of liquid in their hulking bodies. 

He was an equal opportunity kind of whore. 

He was fully prepared to stroke the guy's ego in an effort to get out of here as fast as possible and back onto his little crusade, but the prepared little smirk and flirty air went right out the door when the head of security walked in. The alpha mall cop. He wasn't overly tall and was more compactly muscled than bulky, but his skin was dusky and sexy next to his dark, silky hair. He had a trim beard, wolfish smile, and cool, seafoam green eyes that cut right through any and all bullshit that might be put in front of him.

Stiles' own face heated up and he knew it was going to be angrily red. It was hot and he could feel his pulse thrumming through the tension in his skin. It was slow and deliberate, hard. He was breathless with it and as his brows drew together as he couldn't help the little mewl that floated out of his mouth. And with that, whatever progress he'd been attempting to make was definitively disintegrated. All that work, and here he was, wetting his pants with slick as he squirmed and made embarrassing noises at just the _sight_ of this alpha.

He'd never had a reaction like this before, not to this intensity. Sure, he always got dewy around the guys, was a little loud in bed, and could get pretty... insatiable at times. But it usually came on with time, as he got excited with them, as the sex started coming to climax. To be hit straight in the face with this, to go from zero to sixty?

The alpha seemed to be feeling it too if the considerable bulge in the front of his tight uniform slacks said anything. He braced himself on the fold out table between the two of them, breathing shallow as his chest fluttered, muscles tensing, pupils blown wide. “The fuck are you doing?” he practically wheezed out, mouth hanging open, clearly having to hold himself back.

“Me?! I was fine until you walked in here. Are you wearing musk?!” The alpha douche blushed and jerked backwards, not so subtly taking a quick whiff at his pits and the sexy bit of chest hair bursting out his tight shirt. He crossed his arms in front of himself, tucking his hands under his arms and hunching his shoulders.

“It's a new cologne,” he murmured, looking at the ground and shuffling his feet. “My sisters got it for me, to uh-- I haven't-- dry spell...” he tapered off, frowning in embarrassment. “It was only two squirts... or four... maybe.” His dick was twitching in its confines, already swollen and pulsing, and Stiles swore it was just a few good sucks away from making a wet spot.

He was drooling. Honest to God, he couldn't keep his mouth from hanging softly open, shiny with his own lust. This poor, already ruined, wreck of a chair is probably now gonna be soaked with his fluids too, and he's gonna have to do that hideously embarrassing thing where he asks for an omega kit because he didn't wear a liner today and no way is he walking all the way to his car in these pants. “Dude, you're gonna have to go or I'm probably gonna sit on your face and smother you to death.”

The head of security splutters, probably having never met an omega so direct, but instead of clamoring backwards he's practically pouncing, a growl low in his chest. “Tell me you're on suppressants, or at least the pill.” He sounds desperate, and the way he's tearing at his uniform confirms it. “I need to knot you, right now.”

Now, Stiles isn't gonna lie and say he hasn't been propositioned in some very sketchy ways... and he said yes to them too, but this-- this seems to be on a whole other level. This isn't some guy that gave him a fake name at a bar, danced with him for a half hour and is now dragging him out back. At least in that scenario he can say that there was a connection. They've barely made eye contact and traded a paragraph's worth of words and now this stranger is undressing.

He's got an adorably dark thatch of chest hair, even though it's not very thick, and abs for days, and that bulge is promising the ride of a lifetime, but isn't he here right now for trying to prove that he isn't _just_ a slutty omega? That he wants to be taken seriously and be sexual? What does it exactly say to get tied to the head of _mall security_ in a room with surveillance cameras?

“Suppressants are for people who hate themselves,” he hedges, knowing full well he's covered as far as the pill goes. He is a very liberal omega, knows he isn't gonna turn down most chances of a hook up if he's wanting it, but with what little info he has on this guy, he's not sure he wants to give it up to him. “You can't just stuff my mouth with cock to get me to shut up.” Indignance, that's usually pretty good turn off for most alphas. They always want to be in charge, right?

Hale, or so the plastic badge pinned to his chest decrees, growls low, lips twitching into a hungry smile as he keeps himself curled into a pouncing position, but doesn't push, a decent enough guy to wait for full consent. “Fuck, you really are feisty, aren't you?” Okay, wrong. Gamble does not pay off-- this guy likes a little give and take. Shit, that should not be that sexy. “Look, every shopping center within an hour's drive already knows everything about you. You've got a rap sheet a mile long and I've got to admire your dedication. I was actually excited because I thought I'd get to be the person that finally shut you down, but maybe we can negotiate a... release.”

His smile is outright predatory and he's clearly used to not being told no. Big fish, little pond syndrome. Head of security in a small town must really get him clearance, but Stiles, even living here as he does, isn't impressed. High school superstars used to be a real weakness of his, but they're in their twenties now and clearly this guy stalled out. “Please, my dad's the sheriff. I grew up around men in uniform and your one size fits all, bargain bin supply store find isn't doing it for me.”

His defense loses some of its bite when they're only inches away from their noses brushing, eyes intense, breath hot and wet and brushing against each other, but he's trying okay? Hale licks his lips and hoods his eyes, smile small, but utterly confident. “I know. He's been looking for a new deputy.”

Stiles' brows scrunch as his lips quiver, trying their damnedest to keep back the whimper bubbling in his throat. “Ya, but how do you know that? He didn't even ask around the other counties. There's a guy he's had his eye on, recruiting right out of the academy. It's all he's been talking about for weeks, I thought he might be having a mid life crisis, got himself a boy toy or something.”

Hale leans even closer, sliding their noses along each other so their lips brush as they speak. That musk is enough to get high off of, making Stiles' eyelashes flutter and his knees go week. Jesus, he'd love to get a sample of this guy. So rich and heady, he'd be great in custards or maybe a nice rice pudding. “He is quite the silver fox, but I'm a little more into rambunctious does.” Stiles' cheeks heat at that and he wants to contest it so badly, but his legs are wobbling and his eyes are blown wide with lust and they're kissing. Oh shit, they're kissing.

He _whines_ into Hale's mouth, letting the other guy use his strong arms to haul him across the table, seating him on the edge so they can finally line their bodies along each other, and the fit is perfect. Stiles is tall and broad for an omega, but still husky and soft, so their frames match, but their bodies oppose. Hale is aggressive, but never rough, walking right between Stiles knees, opening up his thighs and just using his weight to lay the other boy back.

Stiles gasps, squirming, and Hale coos to him in his surprisingly soft, high voice with utter care and confidence as he runs his hands smoothly down his torso to start working at his jeans. “Don't worry, I've got you. No need to be so tense, it's alright to let go.” A breathy, slightly manic giggle bubbles up out of Stiles' chest, but he does relax into the touch, letting Hale drag his pants and cotton trunks right down his legs.

“That's the first time I've ever heard that.” Hale makes a soft, questioning noise from down below where he's actually stayed on his knees, massaging Stiles' stomach and sides with his firm hands while he noses, bites and sucks at the insides of his thighs. “Most people are telling me to button up a little, slow down—ah!”

Hale had got his shoulders up under Stiles' knees and in one fluid movement, hooked them there and then dragged him forward, placing himself directly in the omega's dewy groin. He hums, amused, as he mouths, dry and nearly chaste at Stiles' small, peachy balls, nosing at the chubby few inches of his hard cock before he kisses and licks at it. Oh shit, no one ever blows him. Guys rarely suck an omega. They'll eat him out a little for prep's sake, but this? _Oh,_ this.

Stiles' hands slam into the fold up table, scrabbling as though they'll find sheets to fist into if he just keeps clawing for them. He can't keep himself from wrapping his thighs around Hale's face, scratching the sensitive insides along his stubble and groaning, knowing that his ass has got to be leaking like a faucet by now. And the alpha just lets him, even groans as he doesn't wriggle to escape, but instead go deeper, burrowing to suck and lick at Stiles' hole, nipping and nibbling just enough to make it really good.

“Mother of _god,_ I should go to mall jail more often.” Hale chuckles into him, finally pulling back with bright eyes and a messy, glistening mouth. He wipes at it with a thumb, mopping up the slick to suck right off. “You're gonna kill me. I'm gonna die in an employee's only section right next to the unisex bathrooms.”

Undoing his own jeans and finally setting that poor, constricted behemoth free, Hale steps up to him, grinding his hot, hard crotch against Stiles. His cock is thick, and deliciously uncut, but his balls are the real show stopper here. Always underrated in Stiles' opinion, they're real hangers, swaying between his thighs, warm and loose and he lets them slap against Stiles' ass so he can feel the heft-- the meat of them. It makes his eyes practically roll back in his head. This guy could feed an army of omegas pre heat week.

“You know, I kinda knew who you were before I met your dad,” he murmurs, quiet enough that he's only just heard. His eyes are downcast, stance shy as he lines up his cock and slowly, slowly walks it into him, somehow sheepish as he's moving to go balls deep. “I've got a friend who was obsessed with you in college, used to milk me to try your recipes. Was kinda hot the way he'd edge me for hours so he got a good batch, was so careful to collect every last drop. And the food was good too”

He's blushing now, still not making eye contact even as he's laid himself over Stiles, arms bracketing his head, hunching his lower back as he fucks him deep and slow. Shit, he's so sexy. Arrogant but not dickish, wolfish but not predatory, firm, but quiet. And he's tried Stiles' food-- eats his own cum even. His ass clenches, muscles working hard to pull Hale deeper, get him to lock in and keep them tied. One of a kind man, his body knows it, is ready to breed to catch him.

“I thought it was cool you were from Beacon Hills, made it big, and didn't move to L.A. like everyone else does. Kinda always wanted to meet you, maybe ask if you'd ever thought of using omega slick in something. Bet it would make a great simple syrup, mix some cocktails that would knock you on your ass and maybe even start an orgy.” He smirks, bites his lip, and it's so goddamn _dear_ even as his knot is swelling and he's slowly grinding it against Stiles' ring of muscles, inching it in for that awe-inspiring pop.

Stiles can't handle this, not for a single second longer. One of his hands snap up to tangle in Hale's hair, yanking it to pull the guy into a sloppy, hungry kiss, and the other digs into the wealthy meat of his hairy ass, clenching to try and pull him deeper. Their eyes finally meet again and Derek makes a mewling, broken, punched-gut sound as his knot slams inside, getting locked in Stiles' ass as he starts to unload, balls pulsing and jumping, stomach quivering, thighs taut. “Don't worry, I've got you,” Stiles mimics, genuine.

Hale groans and buries his face in Stiles' throat, snuffling and licking and sucking a claim. Stiles holds him close, hands shaking as he rides the crests of his own orgasm, making a mess of Hale's thighs as he drools his own opalescent liquid from where they're tied. Omega cocktails isn't a half bad idea. A slick spiked old fashioned would bring any alpha to his knees.

He smells a sequel in the works.

~~~

Eighteen months and an engagement later, Derek is one of the most infamous instagram boyfriends out there. He's Stiles' primary hand model for every new recipe and is the star of several videos where he pretends to be growly and flustered as Stiles asks him to take their fans through his approach for staging a table for their blogs and videos. He loves arranging their mixed collection of family hand-me-down ceramic cooking ware, hacked up cutting boards, and insane collectible mug hoard. He even helps Stiles plant and grow their own vegetable and herb garden and adamantly denies that he makes the floral arrangements in their home to the guys at the station.

He's fought to make sure Stiles' second book, one focused on dinner parties-- hors d'oeuvres, mixed drinks, frankly lewd desserts-- gets its proper place this time, and has helped take his brand even further. They're front runners in the digital space for their abo openness advocacy and speak often about their romantic fidelity, but proclivities towards group sex and inviting partners to their relationship, the need for a more equal work environment for omegas, and toxic alpha culture.

Derek has been huge on that front, even putting out videos of Stiles milking him for their recipes, talking about how he deals with his boy's club at work that doesn't approve of his more passive role in their home, and not being afraid to say he enjoys when they have another alpha in the bed and he gets to be knotted too.

It's only a fraction of the whole story, but not most people can say they met in mall jail, so it's one of their favorite parts to tell.

 


End file.
